


TLC - tables, ladders & chairs (charlynch femslash series)

by halogensleep



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Charlynch - Freeform, F/F, Femslash, Heel Becky, Heel Charlotte, Lesbian Romance, Protective Charlotte, TLC, Top Charlotte, Useless Lesbians, Wrestling, becky/charlotte, bottom becky, charlotte/becky - Freeform, lesbian smut, lesbian story, she protec she attac she love becky bac, tlc 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 12:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halogensleep/pseuds/halogensleep
Summary: TLC: Tables, Ladders, & Chairs - December 2018.Becky and Charlotte are in an on-screen feud which has brought them head to head on the mainstage... but away from the squared circle things couldn't be further from the truth. Becky has rose as an audience favourite and Charlotte intends on keeping her girlfriend there no matter the personal cost. After a risky ladder spot goes wrong and Charlotte takes a bad knock, Becky is absolutely furious with The Queen. *cw: lots of couple bickering, cuteness, a little smut, and wholesome lesbianism :P*





	TLC - tables, ladders & chairs (charlynch femslash series)

_ TLC: Tables, Ladders, & Chairs - December 2018 _

There’s a sense of electricity out on the main stage. The entrance music, the chanting audience, the bright lights, the tiny bit of magic that happens when their bodies defy physics and pull off the incredible. All of it together produced the kind of addiction that made it so easy to understand why it was her father, The Nature Boy, never did get the hang of retirement. Truth was, Charlotte knew they would have to drag her out of the ring kicking and screaming when it was her turn to hang up the electric blue robe and wrestling boots. Maybe it was the adrenalin of it all, or the fame. God knows it wasn’t because of logistical ease — contrary to what everyone thought they were lucky if the company bothered to help out with hotels and airfare. This pay-per-view was no different, her and Becky barely made rehearsals by the skin of their teeth thanks to the fact they weren’t allowed to be seen travelling to set together anymore… which was handily the second biggest downside of being in an on-screen feud with her girlfriend. The first was having to be the one to punch her in the face every night, although truth be told sometimes Charlotte liked it more than she should.

“You ready?” Becky asked. The Irish woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere, jolting Charlotte out of her daydream. “Easy,” Becky laughed and touched her wrist. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.” Her smile softened.

“Relax. You couldn’t make me jump if you tried.” Charlotte smirked, the bravado of her character becoming her as the minutes began to count down to their headline match.

“There’s my girl,” Becky said slightly cheerful. “But… you won’t be so cocky when The Man comes around and knocks ya down a peg or two,” she teased with her own larger than life smack talk.

It made Charlotte bite the insides of her cheeks to avoid smiling at the stupid tilt of the chin and puffed-out chest thing her girlfriend did when she transformed into the character, the myth, the main attraction that drew the crowds, The Man. It was a difficult dichotomy to explain, where exactly they ended and the characters they played in the ring began. Truth be told, there was always a little bit of The Queen and The Man that they took back home with them every night. And there was always a little bit of Charlotte and Becky up there on the canvas too, no matter how much they had to pretend to hate each other for the audience’s sake.

“Okay you need to relax, Becks,” Charlotte raised her eyebrows in mock disapproval.

She lowered herself until she was crouched on the floor, stretching out her long legs one at a time. She shifted her weight and twisted her body as far as it would go, limbering the small of her back and warming up her hamstrings. Her girlfriend stood over her quietly, hands on hips, pouting and unable to stop herself admiring the architecture of her taut muscles.

“I’m not going to go easy on you.” The Man finally got on the floor and started to stretch herself out too. The comment made Charlotte laugh. “I’m being serious,” Becky protested, a half-smile worked into her cheeks. “I’ll flatten you out there, you won’t know what day of the week it is when I’m finished with you, big eejit.”

“Big eejit?” Charlotte looked up with narrowed eyes and sounded the insult out as best she could. The Irish vernacular really could be a problem sometimes. Thankfully, however, most of the time it was just plain adorable.

Becky rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Eejit. You know, like idiot? Honestly, we’re separated by a common language!” she complained.

“Good job I’m with you for your tight butt,” Charlotte teased. It made The Man blush. “I could happily kick that peachy ass all day long, for what it’s worth.” She nodded and glanced towards her rear.

Becky continued limbering up, her leg pressed out at such an angle that as she twisted her body, said butt became all the more on show. Charlotte smirked. It made Becky smile too.

Becky shook her head and tried to carry on with her big talk. “The Man doesn’t know what you’re talking about. The Man is—”

“A soft little bottom who calls me Daddy in bed sometimes?” Charlotte reminded her.

“Right! Enough of that craic!” Becky grew beet red and her eyes bulged out her skull, she glanced around to check for listening ears. “You always have to take it too bloody far,” she turned around and scolded.

Charlotte chuckled at that. “What is it Ronda says? Do you need to go and cry about it over some avocado toast, Millennial Man?” she teased, stretching her arm behind her head.

“Ugh,” Becky whined, suddenly entirely herself and out of character. She lowered her voice and leaned closer to her girlfriend, “I mean, the woman is built like a brick shithouse but I’ll be damned if she can cut a promo to save her life. Millennial Man? Avocado Toast? What the feck is she talking about?”

“There there, don’t cry about it.” Charlotte frowned.

“The Man doesn’t cry.”

“You got misty eyed and tried to make me pull over on the freeway to watch a double rainbow—”

“The Man  **does not** cry.” Becky emphasised with raised eyebrows that dared The Queen to carry on with her jibes.

“Of course, silly me.” Charlotte smirked, she finished limbering and stood up from the floor. “You ready? You remember what we went over?”

“Of course,” Becky scoffed and took a helping hand back on to her feet. “Is it awful to admit I’m really looking forward to smashing you arse first through an announcer’s table from the top of a ladder?”

“You’ve done worse things,” Charlotte mused. “Just please try your best not to  _ actually _ hit me ass first because I don’t know if my weak little body could take it,” she joked, her hand gesturing over her muscular, statuesque physique.

In her mind, she knew nights like this were the ones that would be looked back on fondly. Who won, who lost, who got hurt and had to push through despite the pain, none of that stuff mattered once she got a chance to sit down and watch the replay. It made it all the more sweet being able to share it with Becky. There was something sacrosanct and special about trusting another person so wholly that the thought of being landed on from the top-rung of a ladder was exhilarating more than it was terrifying. She could already imagine how the crowd would erupt; the roaring cheers and chants going up in the stadium as the two of them, plus Asuka, battled it out for Becky’s championship belt. Of course, neither of them would come out victorious tonight.

The company had already given them the storyline talk weeks ago. Instead, Ronda would come out and interfere at the end of the match, and Asuka would take the championship belt. It would set Becky up for a road to the Royal Rumble for a redemption showdown with Asuka, and as for Charlotte, she would have a clear path to the Wrestlemania main stage. The Queen versus The Rowdy One. These were the heydays, and none of it went amiss upon Charlotte.

“Two minutes to main stage, ladies!” A production assistant called down the hallway to them both.

Charlotte looked to the monitor as the current performers were beginning to wind down their match to the finishing moments. She sighed and looked at Becky, unable to ignore the troubled brown-eyed stare that only seemed all the more heavier now.

“You’ll win the belt back,” Charlotte promised and nodded down to the championship belt slung around her waist.

“I know,” Becky said quietly.

“You’ll catch me up in no time at all.” Charlotte grinned.

“Beat you, ya mean?” Becky raised a playful brow and slapped her belt.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlotte pushed a half a smile up her cheeks. “Another five championship wins in the bag for you and we’ll be even-steven.”

She knew it would never be the case and it wasn’t a fact that pleased her. Becky was the underdog. The one the little guy could root for. The rebel who raged against the machine, no matter how much it shoved her down. Charlotte on the other hand? Charlotte was a legacy wrestler. The product of a dynasty. A Hall Of Famer in the making before she even landed that first backflip off the top turnbuckle — or so people liked to suggest. Charlotte had seven championship reigns over Becky’s two. One more, and the title of ‘most decorated female wrestler of all-time’ would be hers for the history books. And it would be hers, that much was obvious.

It wasn’t that she cared, or at least that’s what she said whenever someone reminded her of the fact, but there was something special and timeless about being remembered as an all-time great — even if half of it was because she got the push for being The Nature Boy’s daughter. She could imagine herself on the Hall of Fame stage accepting the nod, talking about the little girls she did it for, about the women who helped pave the way, and finally, about Becky Lynch. The real wonder girl. The one nobody saw coming. She wanted the honour for herself, and more importantly so she could honour the woman that nobody else in the company wanted to.

“Hey,” Charlotte grabbed Becky’s wrist before the Irish woman could walk to stage side.

“Yeah?” Becky peered over her shoulder.

“Give me hell out there,” Charlotte told her with serious eyes. “You might have to drop the belt to Asuka tonight but that doesn’t mean you have to be the loser. Make them chant your name, Becks.” She squeezed her girlfriend’s wrist.

“You always want me to go hard and beat you up… I’m beginning to think you like it.” Becky levelled her stare.

“Nah,” Charlotte laughed. “I’m just good at making you look good. Why spoil a winning formula?”

“Whatever you say, Flair.”

The sound of the ringside announcers calling their match echoed through the stadium. Charlotte could hear the fans chanting already, and even though it wasn’t her they were chanting for, she smiled anyway. Becky jogged off towards the side stage ready for her music to play and the fun begin.

“Knock em dead, Becks,” Charlotte muttered under her breath.

 

* * *

 

  
  


If Becky heard what Charlotte said before she stepped out to the ring, she certainly didn’t seem to note the jest it was said with. The match started hard and finished even harder, and, somehow, halfway through, The Queen found herself pushed to the limit and beyond.

It was a ladder spot gone awry that nearly brought the pay-per-view to a grinding halt. The scene was supposed to go like this: after a slug-fest outside of the ring, a little back and forth over the ladder, she and Asuka would be laid out on the announcer’s table and Becky would climb all the way to the top rung. The Man would fling herself off and land with her legs hitting the pair of them, crashing all three women through the plywood table and giving the effect she had crushed them half-to-death. The crowd would go up. They would all writhe around on the floor and catch their breath. The commentators would talk about how never before in women’s wrestling had the likes of such a performance been seen. All would be well.

What actually happened was this: Charlotte and Asuka got in their position on the table. Becky climbed the top rung. The Man overshot her jump by more than a few centimetres. Asuka had the common sense and quick wits to bail, and although Charlotte could have too, she held her spot in order to break Becky’s fall. To add insult to injury, the announcer’s table that was rigged to break on impact, thus absorbing the force, barely even wobbled. Charlotte took the entire hit to her ribs and felt her bones immediately squeal at her.

The pain was overwhelming. The ability to breathe impossible. It left her rolling from side to side, sobbing and certain that her ribs were broken. The wind was knocked out of her and apparently the entire stadium too by the sound of the audience’s reaction. She felt a referee squeeze her hand, the secret signal between performers to check if an injury was real or for show. Charlotte didn’t squeeze back this time. This was most certainly for real.

“Is she hurt bad?” Panic tinged Becky’s voice.

Becky was sprawled out behind her, heaving for breath and mumbling behind her bright ginger hair to an official beneath the chants of the stadium. Charlotte closed her eyes and forced her lungs to work with sheer strength of will. Her limbs were the next task. If she could get them to obey and haul herself up then she would be good to go.

“Cameras are off you both,” A referee said discreetly, kneeling down between the pair of them. “Asuka is going to climb the ladder and get the belt, this one is done for.” He pointed to Charlotte.

“No,” Charlotte interrupted and flung herself over on to her spine, staring at her exhausted girlfriend. She heaved for breath, “Go stop her.”

“You’re hurt, just stay down,” Becky whispered back, feigning injury for the audience so Asuka could snatch an early win.

“Get your bony ass in that ring and pull her down!” Charlotte gritted her teeth. “Buy me a minute and I’ll be up.”

Becky levelled the stare that was reserved for idiocy and impress, both of which usually blurred together where Charlotte was concerned. Nonetheless she dragged herself up to her feet, earning the screaming cheers of the audience.

“You said it was peachy earlier,” Becky quietly scoffed and scrambled over Charlotte, hauling ass back to the ring as fast as she could.

“Yeah yeah,” Charlotte sighed with a wince.

They went another twenty minutes. Perhaps not long to anyone else but in the space of that time they managed to fit enough brutality and stunt work for an entire epic saga plus its prequels. The pain was horrific. Her determination was stronger. The cheering crowd drove them all onwards to the grand finale. By the time Ronda came down the ramp to knock their ladder over Charlotte was already counting down the seconds - utterly done for.

Charlotte managed to stay steely all the way backstage as she limped up the ramp, through the hallways, past impressed superstars, and finally back into the green room. She swatted away officials who were determined to make a scene over the failed ladder spot. She was fine. Or so she growled at them, legs slung over the chair beside her and ice pressed into her gut. Becky stayed silent and pensive through the whole ordeal while the pay-per-view came to a close. She occasionally peered at her girlfriend, worried and well aware that she wasn’t allowed to fuss in public. That was rule number one in the ‘relationships at the workplace’ handbook.

Instead the worrying came after they piled into the car to go home. Apparently the company was willing to make an exception this time. There was no way Charlotte was driving herself home.

“You’re a flaming eejit, you know that?” Becky hissed as soon as the car door closed.

Charlotte blinked and opened her mouth but no noise came out, she was at an utter loss for words. She furrowed her brow in indignation and pulled her coat around herself tighter. She would have rested her temple against her fist if she could but the searing pain in her ribs decided otherwise and prevented much movement at all where her arms were concerned. Becky started the car and slipped out of the parking lot.

Becky continued, peering around for traffic as they pulled out of the junction. “I honestly cannot believe you sometimes—”

“Babe, you were the one who missed the spot and landed ass first into my fucking soul!” Charlotte griped.

“And still you got up!” Becky snapped back with stern brown eyes. “Wouldn’t even let the medics look at you!”

“For what? So they can tell me I have bruised ribs?” Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“Broken ribs.” Becky accelerated aggressively.

“Fractured at best, you’re not as big as you like to pretend.”

“You were hurt.” Becky became suffocatingly serious, her hands tightening around the steering wheel. “You were supposed to stay down and let the match finish early. We always say that safety is more important and then you go and do that!” 

“Okay well can you just focus on doing this and pay attention to the road? I would like to make it back to Santa Cruz in one piece…” Charlotte earned a bird-mouthed expression from her girlfriend at the steering wheel. “Thank you,” she sighed into the silence.

 

* * *

  
  


By the time she made it out of the shower and into plush hotel bed, the silence still reigned victorious between them with little more than gruff sighs and short words exchanged. Becky sat at the little wooden desk with her laptop screen replaying their match. Once in a while, Charlotte caught sight of Becky’s expression tightening up and wincing in the reflection of the mirror. It became obvious that she was replaying the botched ladder spot.

“Are you going to close that thing and get in bed? We have training tomorrow… if we get up early enough we might even get breakfast on the way?” Charlotte tried to sound up for it.

Becky turned round slowly, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“You think you’re going to training tomorrow in your state?” She nodded at her sore ribs.

It dawned on Charlotte too late that she should have put on something more than just underwear, but it was late and she was still too sore to move her arms very much. Instead, the purpling ribs and spattering of blue bruises across her body were on show for Becky’s unreserved scrutiny. The Irish woman did just that with narrowed eyes and her jaw chewing itself to an early grave.

“I think this bed is very cold without you,” Charlotte finally mustered a response.

“Stop deflecting.”

“Stop worrying.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Becky crossed her arms.

“Rebecca,” Charlotte peered forward with a teasing, chipper expression. “Get in this bed before I come and get you. Don’t think just because I let you beat me up on television every week that I can’t take you down if I want to. I can, handily.”

Beneath the chipper expression, the pain was unreal. It was beyond unreal. It was a white-hot flame pushing into her lungs every time she tried to breathe. Charlotte wasn’t about to let the worrier learn of it though, and so instead she forced a smile and patted the empty side of the bed.

Reluctantly, Becky got up from the chair and clambered over the sheets. She pushed out a long, heavy sigh that was followed up with a big brown-eyed expression that Charlotte would never learn how to not smile at. A perfect finishing combo if ever there was one. The Queen just shook her head and tucked a rope of flame-red hair behind her girlfriend’s ear.

“See?” She whispered. “Not so hard.”

Becky crawled forward and tucked her head into Charlotte’s lap. Her breath was warm against the side of Charlotte’s belly. It was a nice distraction from the definitely-fractured-ribs stewing nicely beneath a purpling bruise that only seemed to be growing. The Irish woman kissed her gut once, then pressed another one very gently beneath the bruise.

“Sorry,” Becky whispered, her brow furrowing with confliction.

“Don’t be,” Charlotte said. “It’s just a love bite.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Of course. I know you only bruise me up like this so all the girls know who I go home to...” Charlotte lifted a mocking brow.

“That is a very self-aggrandising way of looking at things even for you, Charlotte Flair,” Becky mused with a slight laugh.

The Irish woman rolled off of Charlotte’s lap and on to the empty side of the bed. The Queen tried not to seem too happy about it but the pain was starting to become intolerable. She caught a glimpse of Becky’s cheek as she settled on her back and instantly felt guilty. There was a big mark growing furious and pink along the side of Becky’s pale face where she had slapped her hard during the match.

Charlotte dragged her fingers over it and tilted Becky’s jaw towards the light. “Sorry,” she quirked an apologetic smile. “I guess I got you good too?” She tapped the offending mark.

“Eh, you hit the people you love the hardest, right?” Becky brushed it off and rubbed her cheek. “Nothing The Man can’t handle.”

“Oh enough with that!” Charlotte burst into laughter.

The laughter quickly turned into blinding agony that left her spluttering and wide-eyed with the pain of a lightning bolt scorching her lungs. Charlotte pushed herself forward and craned over, wincing and trying not to breathe too hard.

Becky slipped a hand along the small of her back tenderly.

“You want to tell me again that you’re not hurt?” Becky whispered and lifted an eyebrow.

“Alright, you got me,” Charlotte finally conceded.

Becky plumped the pillows behind her and fussed in the best way possible. This version of her fussing involved no shouting, no beratement, just tenderness and worry with a slim dash of crooning. It was adorable. Charlotte considered the possibility of becoming a human crashmat for her girlfriend every calendar weekend for the rest of the year if it meant getting this sort of treatment. Usually, she was lucky if Becky left hot water in the morning or got the pulpy orange juice with bits in that apparently no one with Jesus in their heart would  _ ever _ drink willingly.

“Thanks honey,” Charlotte managed a soft word as she leaned back into the plumped up pillows with a wince.

“You worry me,” Becky admitted as she slipped her arm across the front her girlfriend’s strong, thick shoulders. She burrowed herself into the crook of Charlotte’s collarbone and hesitated for a moment. “Promise me,” she stopped and swallowed. “That you don’t do the big, dangerous stunts just for me?” She kissed the underside of her jaw.

“The Man? Worrying about me?” Charlotte feigned shock.

“Of course I worry about you! it’s usually a great day if I get anything else done.” Becky sighed and rested her head against the ball of Charlotte’s tan shoulder. “Tonight scared me. I mean  _ really _ scared me, Char. I didn’t think you were getting up after that…”

That right there was the problem, Charlotte supposed. It was strange having someone worry about her—truly worry about her—the way Becky did. The same exact way she worried for Becky, really. It was a symptom of love that rarely needed to be spoken of between them because it was just so palpable, so obvious. It left Charlotte aching in her empathy. It filled her with memories of what it was like to sit in the emergency room while the nurse cleaned up Becky’s bloodied, concussed face after the Smackdown invasion; how devastating it was to see her hurt; how helpless she felt, complicit on some level, even. She could only imagine Becky felt the exact same way right now.

“Hey,” Charlotte sighed and peered down at the human comforter very carefully cuddling her. “You know what this rib is good for?” She pointed down to her angry bruise.

Becky slowly shook her head.

“Me neither,” Charlotte shrugged and stared playfully at her scowling girlfriend. “So please stop worrying because you didn’t break anything vital. In fact  _ you _ didn’t do anything at all. It was a freak accident.”

“A freak accident would be if the titantron fell out of the ceiling and crushed you like the Wicked Witch of the West,” Becky scoffed.

“Wouldn’t you be so lucky? No one to stand in your way of being the all-time greatest then.” Charlotte craned her neck down and kissed her girlfriend’s scalp.

“I love you,” Becky murmured quietly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said I love you.”

“Can’t hear you.” Charlotte chewed her smirk. “Again?”

Becky exhaled and got up on her knees, pushing her face forward until their noses were resting against one another and her hands were cupping the sides of Charlotte’s jaw. Becky pulled a funny, troubled expression, as if it were suddenly dawning on her just how much she did indeed love that wild girl from Flair country. She tucked the blonde flyaways behind Charlotte’s ears and swallowed hard, hesitating for a moment.

“You could have rolled out when you saw that I overshot the mark, don’t think I didn’t notice that.” She couldn’t let it go.

“And then what?” Charlotte batted her long eyelashes. “You crash with nothing to soften your fall and break your back? Who will I get to beat up if you wind up in a wheelchair? Peyton Royce? No thank you.”

“You stayed there because you wanted the stunt to look good. You wanted  _ me _ to look good,” Becky called her out on it.

“Well out of my five best personal qualities, making you look good is at least three of them.” Charlotte allowed her girlfriend to lift her chin slightly, a stern expression worked into her face. “...Besides, bruised ribs or not, nothing makes me happier than hearing them chant your name around the arena,” she whispered.

It stalled Becky like a deer in headlights.

“No,” Becky complained. “I’m trying my hardest to be frustrated enough with you to keep telling you off, so stop being perfect.”

“How about you just step your game up and get on my level?” Charlotte nodded over to the vanity case where salve, tiger balm, support bandages and other accoutrements were kept. “Get moving, leprechaun. You know what I like.”

It was a risky move, she knew that. Nonetheless, Becky slowly smiled and shook her head - and if it wasn’t for the busted ribs there would probably be a shoulder shove involved too. Charlotte watched her clamber off the bed and foot towards the vanity case on the side table. She stood there for a moment rifling through the contents in search of necessary supplies and Charlotte closed her eyes and basked in the victory of an oncoming back rub. That was one of the many plus sides of dating a woman these days - slender, dainty, aggressive fingers made a quick meal out of tight muscles and knots.

Charlotte eased herself on to her gut and managed to carve out a position that didn’t anger her ribs more than absolute necessary. The pillow was nuzzled against and wrangled with both forearms. Charlotte sighed and let her body become slack as the worrier finally clambered back on the bed with her supplies in tow.

“Take it you’re not going to be able to pick me up and throw me against a wall any time soon?” Becky observed the purpling bruise reaching around the side of Charlotte’s rib cage towards her back.

Charlotte released a guttural sigh as the muscles along the small of her spine were dug into with warm fingers. “Should have thought about that before you tried to send me to the Upside Down.” She glanced over her shoulder with a teasing look.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Becky whispered, pressing a kiss against the back of her neck. “I’ll put you back together again - don’t worry.”

“You always have,” Charlotte sighed, smiling to herself. “In another life you would have made an excellent registered nurse...”

“Keep being an eejit and I might have to become one yet.”

“If that’s your way of saying you’ll wipe my ass when I’m old and feeble, thanks.”

“It wasn’t, but whatever helps you sleep at night.” Becky attacked the knot between her shoulder blades carefully, tongue between her teeth. “Still, who knows. The Man is a very caring, benevolent, girlfriend after all… God knows you give her enough practice.”

“Yeah and with the amount of concussions  _ The Man _ has taken I’ll be lucky if she remembers my name in a few years time… or, you know, her own for that matter.” Charlotte rolled her eyes against the pillow.

“Then again.” Becky slipped a hand along the back of her leg, her fingers slowly moving around towards the inside of her thigh. “Might have to just go ahead and finish you off, Flair, make sure you know who’s boss…” 

Charlotte’s ears perked up, along with other parts of her body. Becky’s hand slipped along the smooth tan skin where her thigh and groin met together, fingers teasing her in that particularly torturous way that was used whenever a point needed to be made. Charlotte slipped her teeth against one another and arched her spine, which only hurt her ribs all the more. She winced and closed her eyes, wanting and aching, simultaneously.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Charlotte half chuckled the words out.

“Nah, course not.” Becky kissed her neck again, nibbled the back of her earlobe, nuzzled herself into the flat of her broad shoulder. “My girl’s indestructible, there’s not a nuclear warhead big enough on this earth to put my woman down…”

 

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